No Greater Hell Than To Be A Prisoner Of Fear
by clair beaubien
Summary: Missing scene (the scene we all know should've been there) to Mamma Mia: Dean gets Sam from the cellar to the car. (rated for Dean's language.) Ch 3: Sam wakes up in the back of the car and contemplates Mom being alive.
1. Chapter 1

**There is no greater hell than to be a prisoner of fear. Ben Jonson**

* * *

" _Dean?"_

Sam couldn't quite keep up with everything going on. Dean was alive. Cas was alive. _Mom_ was alive. Pantsuit was gone.

They were alive and Pantsuit was gone.

" _You're alive?"_

Pantsuit was gone and they were safe and Sam didn't have to hold on anymore, didn't have to act like he could take everything she put him through and more. He could be sick and he could be scared and he could be in pain.

" _Dean? You're alive?"_

He could be disoriented.

Dean was alive. Cas was alive. _Mom_ was alive. Dean was alive and pushing him back down to the chair.

"Sit, Sammy. C'mon, sit. I need to get a look at you. Cas? Can you - ?"

The question hung there and as Sam let Dean push him down to the chair he never wanted to sit in again there was a rending screech of wood and metal, and fresh air and sunlight flowed into the foul cellar.

"Is he all right?" That was Mom. Mom was alive. Mom was alive, Cas was alive, Dean was alive.

" _Dean? You're alive?"_

"Sam? You with me? Sammy? C'mon, look at me. I need to know you're with me." Dean was crouched in front of him but Sam's eyes didn't want to focus, they wanted to close and not open again for a year. He felt Dean running hands over his arms and legs and ribs. "Dammit. What the hell did that bitch do to you? I should've killed her when I had the chance."

" _Dean?"_

"Hey – hey, Sam. Look at me. Okay? Look at me. Are you with me? You know this is real, right? Sam?" Dean put his hand on Sam's face and Sam was cold and Dean was warm and he was alive and Mom was alive and Cas was alive.

" _You're alive?"_

"Cas, get over here and heal him."

Cas was alive and he crouched next to Dean to put his warm fingers on Sam's cold forehead and the warmth bubbled from his fingers through Sam's veins and muscles and skin, and the bone-deep misery of the knifing, burning pain bubbled away and the heat bubbled away and Sam was cold and confused and so, _so_ tired.

" _You're alive."_ He meant it for Dean and for Mom and for Cas and for himself. " _You're alive."_ He leaned forward, wanting to put his arms around Dean and hold on but his arms were too heavy and Dean put his arms around Sam and held on and Sam breathed out a deep breath he didn't know he'd been holding and breathed in a deep breath he didn't know he'd been needing.

"Dean," that was Cas, still close by. "I need to heal you, too."

"All right, yeah. Just make it quick."

And Sam felt the smallest shudder run through Dean and that was all. Dean stayed close, holding on and whispering, " _We're gonna get you out of here, all right? We need to get out of here."_

"Is he all right?" That was Mom, close but not as close as Dean. Mom was alive. "Can he walk?"

"You bet he can," Dean said. He leaned back but Sam's head was too heavy to look up at him. "You just let me know when you're ready. Okay?"

He was ready. Sam was more than ready to leave. He'd walk, he'd crawl, he'd do whatever it took. He was ready.

" _You're alive,"_ he said and felt Dean chuckle.

"All right, _I am Groot_. Mom, you bring the car as close as you can? Cas, you see his boots anywhere?"

Sam tried to stay awake and aware and with Dean but exhaustion spread through his brain and his body and the world muffled around him until Dean was grumbling, "What'd she steal your boots?" and leaning back and pushing Sam to sit up.

" _Dean?"_

"We can't find your boots, but the car's only just outside now. You walk there and I'll take care of your feet when we get there. Okay? I want to get you out of here, like _now._ "

Out. Out of here. Out of here _now._ Sam was okay with that. With all of that. He started to answer but wasn't sure he'd say anything other than ' _Dean. You're alive.'_ so he pushed himself to his feet and Dean stood up with him.

"All right, there we go. C'mon, I got you." He pulled one of Sam's too-heavy arms over his shoulders and wrapped his arm around Sam's back and Sam felt him grab a handful of his shirt and t-shirt and when he took a couple of steps without falling face first onto the dirt floor and Dean said, "There you go, there you go, I knew you could do it," he sounded like he was congested, like he had a cold.

"Cold?" Sam asked him. Didn't Cas heal him? "Cold?"

"You're cold?" Dean asked him back. "It's okay, got a nice blanket for you in the car. I'll turn all the heaters up. You'll be fine. Okay, Sammy? You're going to be fine. C'mon, we're at the stairs. Can you make the stairs?"

Stairs. Stairs? Cold? Dean? Sam tried to keep his thoughts in place. In order. In his head.

" _Stairs_?"

"Just a few stairs, Sammy, and we're outside. Okay? You make the stairs?"

Sam didn't remember walking. He only remembered Dean's arms, holding on, holding him up, holding him together. He didn't remember walking but the stairs were at his feet and he had to get up them. He _would_ get up them.

He put a hand on the banister and a foot on the step and wasn't sure he could feel either of them but Dean still had a good hold of him and each step up that he took Dean seemed to be doing most of the work and all of the talking, " _Good, there we go, you got it, one more, one more_ " and Cas and Mom – _Mom_ _was alive_ – were up the stairs, out the stairs, off to the side, waiting, watching Sam's slow progress.

And then, " _All right, we'll take a second here. I wanna be sure you don't step in any splintered door splinters_ ," Sam was off the stairs and in the air and out of that hell and the car was there and Cas was there and Mom was there and Dean was there.

 _Dean was alive._

And when Dean turned toward him, " _All right, Sammy, let's get you over to the car – "_ Sam got his too-heavy arms to wrap around Dean and hold on and hold on until maybe he'd never have to let go.

" _You're alive."_ It was all he could say. It was all he wanted to say. Dean held onto him and chuckled a wet, congested, laugh. He should've answered Sam with some smart-ass, smart-aleck reply but he chuckled and pressed a hand on the back of Sam's head and breathed out a wet, shaky sigh.

"I'm alive, Sammy. I'm alive. Now let's get you home."

##


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was alive.

Sam was alive and healed and holding onto Dean like he never wanted to let go and if Dean wasn't so ready to blow this place and get Sam home he might just let him hold on forever.

Sam was alive.

He was alive, he was cold and shaking and dehydrated and wearing clothes that'd seen days of torture and bloodshed and everything that comes with that, in bare feet on splintered wood and broken metal and Dean needed to get him home three days ago.

Sam was alive.

"All right, Sammy. Let's get you in the car and out of here, okay? Let's get you home."

Sam stood back, nodded, sort of, didn't completely let go of Dean. He was squinting, maybe from the sunlight, maybe from exhaustion, maybe from still not being quite with it.

But he was alive.

"Okay, Sam, one step at a time. Cas? You get the car door? Back door? Mom, open the trunk? I need a blanket."

They moved to do what he asked, Cas with his usual grimly neutral expression, Mom with a pinched look that was a lot like Sam's ' _not happy about this situation at all_ ' face.

"All right, Sam. The car door's open, let's get you in there. Okay? C'mon. C'mon, Sammy."

Sam was alive and walking stiff and uncoordinated, but he was alive and walking and Dean got him sitting in the back seat. Sitting and shivering and still with a hand twisted tight in Dean's sleeve.

"You got that blanket, Mom? It's in the trunk. Cas, you know where it is?"

And one of them handed Dean the blanket and he wrapped it around Sam who let go of Dean to pull it tight with both hands around himself.

Sam was alive.

"I'll get the heat on as soon as we're on the road. All right? We'll get you warmed up. Let me see your feet now, okay? Walking through the splinters, I need to check your feet."

"Dean?" Sam asked, like he was going to ask a question or he wasn't sure that was Dean or he was going to hurl.

"How're you doing, Sam? You gonna be sick? Why don't you lie down? There's a lot going on, you don't need to worry about it. All right? You need to just lie down."

But Sam didn't lie down and Dean didn't insist and he stayed where he was, slouched, curled, learning toward Dean. His eyes were on Dean's hands as Dean checked his feet.

"All right, no new damage, that's good. Black as all crap but we'll get you to a shower as soon as we can. All right?"

"Dean?"

Sam was shaking, exhausted, in shock – Dean didn't feel much better – but he was alive and Dean moved to put his hand on Sam's shoulder but it ended up pressed against his face.

"We need to get home," he told Sam and something harsh and burning dragged behind his eyes and into his throat. "I need to get you home."

"M'okay," Sam said. He said it like he was trying to reassure Dean. He blinked, scowled, cleared his throat, sat up straighter. "I'm okay. We should get out of here." His voice was rough and hollow and he cleared his throat again like he knew it wasn't strong enough for Dean. "Right? Get out of here?"

Whatever was dragging, burning, behind Dean's eyes and in his throat flared warmer in his chest ~ _t_ _hat's my boy ~_ Sam was alive.

"That's right. We're out of here. Get your feet in, all right? Want another blanket? You want some water? Something to eat?"

Sam pulled his feet into the car, stopped, looked at Dean. Glared. "No water. Had enough water."

Dean wondered what that meant, if Sam was even oriented enough to be making sense, but he went with it.

Sam was alive.

"Okay, whiskey? You want – what else have we got? Cas? What else we got in the cooler?"

While they waited, Sam looked at something over Dean's shoulder and his expression was sad and it was questioning and Dean didn't have to turn his head very far to realize Sam was looking at Mom.

Her expression was a worried smile, her own questioning glance, as she looked from Sam to Dean.

"He's gonna be fine," Dean told her. "Right, Sammy? You get comfy in the car, get some rest, and we'll get you home. You're gonna be fine."

Sam nodded. He looked at Dean, cleared his throat, nodded, looked at Mom again.

"M'fine. I'll be fine."

Then there was orange juice and beef jerky from the trunk and Dean opened the bottle and ripped the plastic wrap and handed them over and Sam looked at them like he wasn't sure what they were.

"You eat that, okay, Sammy? Drink the orange juice. You'll feel better. You get comfy and eat that and we'll get you back home. Right?"

Sam nodded, still looking like he had no clue. He was alive and he nodded and held the juice and jerky close to his chest and rubbed one dirty foot on top of the other.

"Home. Yeah. Good."

He was alive, curled forward, shaking, and Dean wanted to comfort him, reassure him, get him to drink the OJ and eat the jerky, get some rest, but he needed Sam home so they got on the road, Mom shotgun, Cas following, Sam wedged against the back door where Dean could see him over his shoulder and in the mirror.

Sam was alive.

The road off the property was rough and rutted and when they hit the paved public road the relief almost made Dean lightheaded. "Just a few hours, now, Sammy. All right? We'll get you home."

Sam's eyes flicked from juice to jerky to nothing to nothing again back to juice but he met Dean's gaze in the mirror on the first try. "M'fine…" Then, suddenly, like he suddenly remembered he was supposed to, he had a sip and swallow of juice, a bite and chew of jerky, then put his head back like he couldn't hold it up anymore.

For twenty minutes, twenty-five miles, it repeated, a bite, a sip, a silent, aching stare at Mom, then head back and eyes closed.

"How is he?" Mom asked, whispered, worried. She glanced back but didn't turn all the way around to see Sam in the back seat. Sam's eyes had been closed a while. "Can we – what can we do?"

"He's sleeping. We just let him sleep. He'll let me know when he needs anything else."

Sam was alive.

Another two hundred miles, two hours and forty minutes, Sam flinched awake. "Dean?" He was a shadow in the back seat, in the dusk, a silhouette against Cas's headlights. "Can we stop? Is there somewhere we can stop?"

"Y'okay? You need me to pull over?"

"No, not pull over." Sam's voice was stronger. "Just – find a bathroom, get washed up, maybe. More orange juice."

"You got it, Sammy. There's a rest stop coming in a few miles. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." His voice faded and his silhouette merged back into the shadows in the backseat. "Thanks."

Sam was alive.

.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam became aware of the rumble of the car as something pulled him awake. The rumble reassured him: he was in the backseat of the Impala, he was warm, he was comfortable, his head was clearer and his nerves were less shot.

But he was exhausted and he was awake.

What woke him up? Something woke him up. They were in the car, the danger was over, Dean was driving them home, and Sam wanted to go back to sleep but something was nudging at his brain that something was off, something was different, something was –

 _Mom._

She was alive.

Dean wasn't dead and Mom was alive.

She was alive and sitting in the front seat.

Mom was alive.

Sam stared at her, at her hair tucked around and trailing over the bench seat, the light from the car behind them making it almost seem to be glowing in the dark.

Mom.

 _Mom._

"Dean?"

"Heya, Sammy. How're you doing?"

"Can we stop? Is there somewhere – can we stop?"

"Y'okay? You need me to pull over?"

"I – " He wanted to pull over. He wanted to pull over and get out of the car and walk far enough away from Mom to be able to be this close to her. "No, not pull over. Just find a bathroom. Get washed up maybe. Change my clothes."

"You got it. There should be a rest stop coming up in a few miles. That okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"You bet."

A few miles. He could wait a few miles. At the speed he could tell that the car was going, a few miles would only be a few minutes. If that. He could wait that long. He sank back into the corner between the seat and the door, into the blanket he still had wrapped around himself. He sank into the shadow and stared at Mom.

Mom.

Dean had explained it to him when they were trapped in that cellar. Mom was back. It was really Mom.

Mom was a badass. Mom was alive.

Only 'Mom _was_ ' was 'Mom _is_ ' and she was inches away. Inches and vinyl and steel.

 _Inches and if only._

A lifetime of _if only._

He reached toward the seat, toward the inches and vinyl and steel that separated him from Mom.

 _Mom._

"Hey, Sammy. The sign says the next rest stop is eleven miles. That okay? You hang on that long?"

Dean was looking at him over the seat and Sam pulled his hand back and tucked it under the blanket. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. I just – I'd like to get out of these clothes."

"We'll get you taken care of."

"Yeah."

Dean turned back to the road and Sam saw him give Mom a fast smile and after a few seconds Mom turned around just far enough that she could see Sam.

"Do you need anything?" She asked it like she had to, like she had to ask something and that was the only thing she could think of.

"I – yeah – no. I – when we stop. It'll be – when we stop."

Mom turned back with a quick smile at Sam and a pinched glance at Dean who turned back to Sam, _hang in there_ in his smile.

Sam tried to smile, maybe even managed it, if Dean saw it. _Hang in there._ Three or four days trapped with Evil's half-assed knock-off was nothing compared to _hanging in there_ the ten minutes or less it would take to the rest stop and he could get out and get clean and get some distance.

 _Mom._

He'd built up a lifetime of images and ideas of Mom, from the few pictures, fewer descriptions, the occasional supernatural encounter with her. She was pretty, in his imagination. She was pretty, smart, patient, funny, and unfailingly loving. She loved him, in his imagination.

Loved him, forgave him.

In his imagination.

Now she was here.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face to send his thoughts somewhere else. Anywhere else. He needed a shave. He needed a shower. Cas could heal broken bones, lacerations, third degree burns, but even his best mojo couldn't match the restorative power of a hot shower and clean clothes.

 _Mom._

The last time Mom saw Sam, she was looking down at him crying in his crib as she burned to death on the ceiling. Did she remember that? Did she think about that? Did that – was that –

He rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair and tried to think about something else, anything else, again. Anything else. His shirt was ribbons, his feet were bare, his skin still crawled with the feeling of that cellar. After the rest stop, after he cleaned up and had some more orange juice and jerky, or maybe there'd be vending machines and he could get something else to eat, after that he could sleep again, he could sleep until they got home, and then when they got home –

Did she know what he'd done? Mom? Did she know everything he was responsible for, the deaths, the destruction, the misery of so many people? Was sorry she'd tried to save him? Sorry she'd died for him? Died for nothing?

"Is it much farther?" If they weren't coming up to the rest stop soon, if he couldn't get out of the car and breathe and think and not think and have a minute to just have a minute to pull this all together –

He felt the vibration of the car speeding up even more than they were already flying and Dean said, "I can see the lights. We're almost there." Sam looked out the side window but he didn't see the rest stop. He didn't see anything but the black night and blacker landscape.

"Okay. Yeah, um, yeah, okay."

 _Mom._

She was alive.

That was – it was –

What was it?

It was everything.

Wasn't it?

Wasn't it everything?

Mom alive, wasn't that what they'd wanted, Dad, Dean, Sam, what they'd wanted all his life? Growing up, wasn't that what he spent his nights thinking about? Even now that he was grown, when sleep went somewhere else and all that was left were empty hours, didn't he still sometimes indulge in a child's fantasy of the perfect life they'd have had if Mom hadn't died?

 _If only she hadn't died._

Now she was alive.

Alive and only inches away from him.

 _If only._

Mom.

Sam reached out and pressed his hand against the back of the seat.

Mom was alive.

Mom.

.

To be continued


End file.
